


The Northern Star To Guide Me

by xziris



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Camping, First Dates, Getting Lost, Help them pls they don’t know where they are, I also try to be funny but alas I am not, M/M, maybe? - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:49:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29290884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xziris/pseuds/xziris
Summary: Grif and Simmons end up a bit lost, a bit annoyed, but very much together.
Relationships: Dexter Grif/Dick Simmons
Comments: 8
Kudos: 25





	The Northern Star To Guide Me

“Way to go, Grif.” Simmons huffed and checked their 3D map again. They weren’t supposed to have it, this was for their entire group, but of course Simmons was in charge when they got split.

“What do you mean, way to go Grif? It was Maroon Team’s mission,” he bit back, not liking that the blame for their predicament had landed on his plate. Simmons shot him the dirtiest look he could probably muster, and turned around to not have to face him.

“You were one driving us!”

“You were in charge of directions, Simmons, I don’t know what you want me to say!”

Grif walked over to join Simmons, leaning on his shoulder to try and examine the map of Chorus together. Maroon Team had asked Simmons to scout out possible locations for some boring building work, military stuff that bounced right off of Grif’s brain. So, during Orange Team’s (name still pending) adventure into the wild for some more dull military work, they brought Simmons along to get it over with in one swift trip.

Of course, once they left the car to carry out Simmons’ orders, it took them a matter of minutes to get lost. They spent the next two hours trying to find the car again, but they were so turned around by the time they’d found something vaguely familiar, that they both kind of gave up at that point. It was Simmons’ idea to stay put and contact Base, which was so far not going well, leading to Simmons’ anxious habits surfacing. Poor guy couldn’t stay still.

If Grif remembered how coordinates worked, then he would’ve helped. Instead, he tried to point out where they were on the map. Neither of them had been registered to appear as the little blips that indicated position, and the map was too complicated and expansive to work to find anything outside of the radius it was set at. They stared at the lifelessness of their map, Grif on his tiptoes peer over Simmons.

“Wanna try calling them again?” Grif asked, because Simmons was getting so worked up that as he tried to explore the hologram, his finger was too heavy and kept going through it. It was honestly kind of funny, but if Simmons didn’t have an opportunity to relax and know they were going to be rescued, Grif knew that he would start freaking out and the whole situation will inevitably become a whole lot more gruelling.

“Sure,” Simmons said through gritted teeth, “let’s do that again.”

He turned off the map and went to pick up his helmet again, the one he left by his feet after he got angry with that too. Grif also dislodged his helmet to attempt to do the same thing, double their chances, even if both of them knew that their signal wouldn’t suddenly switch on. Both of them fiddled around to no avail, so Grif just accepted the situation head on.

“Welp, we’re stranded. I’m gonna go light a fire and shoot a rabbit.”

“We aren’t shipwrecked, and we’re not going feral,” Simmons said with every part of sourness in his voice, “they’ll notice we’re not there and then they’ll look for us.”

“I’m not so sure, Simmons, I think that we have to learn to live off of the land. You can sit and sulk all you like, I’m not going to share the game.”

“Grif, just because we watched the Hunger Games a bit ago doesn’t mean you know everything about survival.”

“I’d have to disagree with you.”

Simmons stepped away from Grif and found a base of a large tree to rest his back on, then slid down to his ass and folded his arms. He sat there, glaring at Grif like always, who shrugged and decided that if they were gonna wait this out then he may as well find something to do. Avoiding meeting his eyes, he turned around to observe the area.

They’d ended up in a neat clearing, the dirt was dry and didn’t stick to his feet. Most of the trees were dark and thick, save from a few saplings fighting against the earth to grow to the same size as their family. He kicked over a small rock by his shoe before he disappeared into the thick bush of trees.

Simmons scowled as he saw Grif’s back retreat in the vague direction they’d come from. As he shifted against the tree, he winced at how uncomfortable he was with the plates of his armour digging through his under armour. Despite the many times he repositioned himself, it just wouldn’t do, so he rolled his eyes loudly and started to unclasp the pieces from his torso and arms.

He set them neatly aside, subconsciously leaving room against the tree for Grif to plonk himself down when he returned. Now a tad more comfortable, Simmons tried to stop the nervous shaking that had taken over his legs in the past hour. He was getting too worked up over this, they’d find them, Grif had a tracker in his armour that Sarge had plenty access to. Someone would come find them within the hour at most, they weren’t likely to just be abandoned by friends.

Over and over this he went, scratching the eczema scar on his neck half to death, moving from one anxious tick to another. Every rustle of the trees that was probably just some common Chorus rodent shook him out of the absent minded train of thought he escaped to in order to keep a milligram of... sanity? Positivity? Whatever he clung to, it was the least he could to do stop himself pulling out clumps of his hair and condemning themselves doomed.

Grif has already done that, so he’d better be the voice of reason again. If the only reason he was being calm and collected was because he needed to be just that tad superior over his companion, then that was good enough reason for him to drop his hand from his neck. He allowed himself to enjoy the afternoon air that brushed over the area, in a way it was oddly relaxing.

The sky had started to bronze to early evening when Grif re-emerged from the forest, and Simmons remembered he was supposed to be pissy with him. But the lopsided grin of a man he knew too well worked its way through his skull and he smiled right back. They’d both had their fair share of time to cool off, though he doubted that Grif was even half way worked up about the whole situation than Simmons was. He made his way over to the tree.

“Look what I found,” Grif said and tilted his helmet slightly for Simmons to look inside. He almost threw up. He’d piled a bunch of wild berries, leaves, and a few roots into his helmet- the most unsanitary object that Simmons could think of. He knew that Grif never cleaned the thing, so it would be years worth of grime that wouldn’t have taken long to spread to the food he’d tried to prepare for them.

“I’m not hungry,” Simmons said, “they’ll be here soon anyway.”

“Suit yourself,” Grif said and sat down next to Simmons, pushing him to the side to have more room against the trunk. He balanced his helmet on his legs, not seeming to care about the comfort level of his armour, and pulled out a suspiciously shaped green berry. Something from Chorus that Simmons hadn’t seen before. “Reckon it’s edible?”

“How should I know?”

“Didn’t you grow up on an island?”

“No, I grew up in Ireland. There’s a difference.”

“Right, right,” Grif said while popping the berry in his mouth anyway, “what was that like?”

Simmons pondered on this for a few minutes too long, wondering if Grif actually wanted to know about his childhood, or was just trying to pass the time. He tilted his head to look at him now, basking in the evening’s dawn overhead, not dead so picking out another berry to eat. He carefully constructed a sentence that wouldn’t reveal too much unless Grif was actually curious.

“I mean, boring, really. I liked my brothers, but other than that it wasn’t outstanding.”

“I didn’t know you had brothers. Lemme guess, youngest child?”

“Oldest, actually.”

“And you still act like that?”

“Act like what?” Simmons snapped, wrinkling his nose.

Grif didn’t say anything, but he really was trying not to laugh. Even though Simmons was older than many of the Reds and Blues, people rarely saw him as anything other than an annoying little brother. People always assumed it was Grif who was the older of the two, he was more hazed and much more attuned to the hells that life wreaked.

He ate another berry and tried to meet Simmons’ gaze, but he’d trailed off and was staring at his own hands. His thumbs were playing against each other, the small light from LEDs on his cyborg arm not going to be enough if they were going to stay out here throughout the night. Which he seriously doubted, but it was fun to rile Simmons up now that he was certain he wasn’t on the brink of exploding.

“What’re your brothers like, then?”

“Um... they really were great. Darragh was on top of his class, and Shane was on his way to being awarded a sports scholarship. I don’t know how Collin turned out, he was young when I, uhhh...”

Grif waited, but nothing came. He tried to fill the sentence out himself, “when you joined the military?”

“Umm... no. When I was kicked out.”

There was a loud breath that left Grif’s lips, something between a sigh and the puff of air you blow when your mother says someone close to the family had passed on. Simmons’ face was blank, not a good sign, he was always overly expressive when he didn’t have to be. They sat in silence as Grif ate the berries he’d gathered when he was still pretending that they’d have to learn to live out in the woods.

Usually, if they were to fall in silence, it would be fine. Natural, really, where the other would do what he needed to do for however long it took him. But now, with that realisation dropped on him, Grif couldn’t help but hate the uncomfortable lull. Like wow, he knew Simmons had shitty parents, but he was so harmless that whatever he did to get kicked out was probably a deep rooted issue with them rather than him.

He put a hand on his shoulder because he didn’t know what else to do. Simmons turned back and offered him a small smile, though his human eye looked glossy. There should be comforting words said right now, but neither of them did that, so this was the next best thing. They stayed like that for a long time, before Simmons started asking about Grif’s childhood, too.

Simmons knew too much about it already, what from Kai not being able to shut up in the one day she stayed at Red Base, but Grif indulged the subject change. It wasn’t better than Simmons’, maybe objectively worse, but he didn’t want the mood to turn mournful as they sat in waiting. So he decided to tell the story of the time he and Kai learnt to swim in the small lake about fifteen minutes from their family home. It was a sweet story.

As Grif described his sister almost drowning a bit too fondly, Simmons tried to laugh at all the right moments. He watched as he finally gave in and took off the same pieces of armour that Simmons had, even if he’d seen him nap in the whole thing countless times. He was slow though, focusing more on the story than undressing, which was understandable. There were moments Simmons saw Grif’s eyes light up like they’d never done before, and his cheeks perked up when he smiled.

By the time his story had trailed off, after Grif and Kai had ran back home and both caught a cold the next morning, the evening had darkened, and a few stars started to come out from hiding. Both of them looked up through the canopy with the silence much more bearable now, and a moon shined strongly through all the leaves that blocked them from the sky above. As Simmons tilted his head to get a better view, it landed on Grif’s shoulder. Neither did he want to move it, nor did Grif push him away.

Their chances of being found before the night hit were next to none, which they both realised at around the same time. There was a deflate from them both, but they’d become comfortable enough now by their clearing that it didn’t matter all that much. For a while, they sat close together, Simmons still resting on Grif like there was something big and great between them. Something more than two teammates who found themselves lost in the middle of fuck knows where.

“I don’t wanna sleep on the floor,” Simmons said, “that’s demeaning.”

“Then stay awake all night, I don’t care,” Grif said, “you can keep lookout in case anyone comes and tries to slit our throats.”

“First of all, again, this isn’t the Hunger Games. Second of all, what am I gonna do, fend them off with the one pistol I have? That’s gonna end well.”

“Fine then, Simmons, you die and when I hear your body hit the ground after your last ditch effort to save your best friend, then I’ll know to retreat.”

“You sound like S-“

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”

Simmons chuckled, and Grif gave him a very meagre punch to his forearm. He dramatically flinched away, hopefully in good humour, while it was Grif’s turn to glare at him. Then he laughed too, wrapping an arm around Simmons and pulling him closer to him. For warmth, Grif mumbled when he did so, and Simmons didn’t care to question- he wasn’t going to complain. This was fine by him.

“If we were in the Hunger Games,” Simmons started, “what would your strategy be?”

“Rely on you to keep me alive then kill you when inevitably only the two of us are alive.”

“That’s horrid,” Simmons said, “and not all that realistic. I would team up with Donut and Doc. Donut because he’s got a great arm and could probably throw a spear, Doc because anyone with an inkling of medical knowledge would be useful in a survival situation like the Games.”

“Wow, so you’d just leave me there to die?”

“Grif, I’m sure by some miraculous set of circumstances, you’d somehow win the whole thing without even trying.”

“That’s more like it. Then I’d go home filthy rich and waste the rest of my life drunk.”

The arm around his shoulders squeezed Simmons closer to Grif, and his head nuzzled a bit more into his shoulder. It was warm, kinda gay, but that wasn’t anything they weren’t used to. If there was anyone on Chorus who thought they weren’t together, then they were very much alone. At some point, they probably would become official to a degree, and then Tucker could get his twenty dollars off of Wash. Simmons smiled, and tucked his legs up to avoid pins and needles. They weren’t shaking anymore.

Simmons shut his eyes, not to sleep, but to enjoy the moment. He doubted that he could sleep anyway, again it was demeaning. Also extremely uncomfortable. But it was nice with Grif, as much as he wasn’t happy with it all, there was nobody he’d rather be this lost with. In all honesty, Simmons didn’t want anyone to come through the trees and disturb them now.

“All my food’s gone.”

“Yeah, see, this is why you’d be awful if we did have to live in the woods. You can’t ration.”

“Oh, and you can?”

“I’d be better than you.”

“Of course you would be. You always are.”

Grif heard him mumble in response, then he fell into silence. Still curled into one another, he tried to make out his face. Gently shoving him didn’t even stir him. With a groan, ran his spare fingers through his own hair, ruffling it up for no apparent reason. Still on standby, waiting for Simmons to stir. Had he said anything to offend him? No, nothing outside of their usual back and forth. Maybe he was just tired, and passed out.

He moved his hand to Simmons’ head, and brushed aside his reddish brown fringe. Yes, he was awake, despite his eyes shut. But he wasn’t long off passing out, and he was really pretty right now. He held on to him tighter, and Grif smiled, expecting Simmons too far out to remember anything he said right here, right then.

“Goodnight, Simmons. Love you.”

“‘Night. Love you, too.”

“This was a weird first date.”

“Yeah, I’ll make up for it. Sorry for getting us lost.”

And it was that easy, Grif cursed the many years he’d been building up to this moment. He tilted his head and pressed his lips on Simmons’ forehead. There was a light hum from his companion, and as he pulled away, he couldn’t help but want to go all the way back the second he nestled his head back against the tree.

“Eh, I was the one driving,” Grif said with a smile, and Simmons lifted his head up and kissed Grif’s jaw. Grif yawned now, ready to spend the rest of the night with Simmons.

“Yeah, yeah. Maybe tomorrow they’ll remember you have a tracker in your helmet.”

“Haha, I can imagine Wash screaming down Sarge for forgetting as we speak.”

Simmons nodded and his breathing levelled out. Then, Grif swallowed down whatever was in his throat, and extended his hand to his helmet. He flicked the small switch in it that allowed it to be tracked, one he made Grey install just so that Sarge wouldn’t keep finding him in various closets. He forgot about it himself, but he wouldn’t tell Simmons that. And hey, at least he got a date out of it.

**Author's Note:**

> Omg new one shot... I really am writing!!! I’ve missed just going off a bit, it’s fun!!! ^.^ I enjoyed this one a lot it was very silly, and I wanna write a lot more one shots w other ships too. 0: !!!! •v•


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